It happened on a tuesday
by lee tea
Summary: Here is Ivy's story. From childhood to present, straight from her mouth.


Hey everyone! Wow, I loved the village, and I've been thinking of writing a village fic for quite a while now, but never had a plot. So...well to make a long story short, I thought of one, and here we are! It's told from Ivys pov, from the time of her child hood to the present. Btw, I dun own the village. Props to m.night ,brotha.

It happened on a Tuesday. Tuesday January 15 to be exact. I was 6 years old. I had woken up that morning to find that I couldn't see anything clearly past two feet away. Looking to my elder sister Kitty's' bed across the room was impossible; all I saw were blurred images; color mixing in and out. I could barely make out the shape of her bed though, the shape of our dresser, and seeing the window, even though it was farther away then kitty's bed on the opposite wall was easy- the light pouring in was obvious to detect. I remember father walking in, good morning princesses! He said in his fine booming voice like he did every morning. This woke up Kitty, who squealed and ran over to him as he twirled her around. I was less than ecstatic. I didn't know where he was! The colors looked all the same. He called to me, Ivy? He said, Ivy, what is wrong my little sunshine? And I remember saying the four words that became a staple in my vocabulary from then on:

"where are you papa?"

I'm right here he said and he laughed, what a funny girl I was. Kitty had left the bedroom; obviously our conversation was of no interest to her. I could hear her running down the hall, mama! She shouted, and another door opened and closed, their speech lost to me. So I said again,

"Where are you papa? Papa I can't see you."

Papa came and sat beside me, I could vaguely make out a moving shape, then a creaking noise, as the bed shifted to account for his weight. Ivy, he said again, his voice softer, and noticeably less jovial. Tell me what's wrong. I can't see you, I said. Papa, I can't see you.

I can't see you.

I was taken to the doctor that afternoon. The walk to the village doctor, Victor Mason, that of which I had taken many times before during my life on account of small illnesses was a completely foreign experience to me. The sky and the grass were obviously contrastable, the sharp colors of blue and green hazy only at the point of which they met, which was reassuring to me, but I could no longer detect how many sheep were in the field. In school, mathematics was my best subject. I could practice arithmetic until the sky fell, I loved it. I was the first in my class to successfully learn multiplication and division. But no amount of mathematical knowledge would help me count the sheep that day. It looked like a big gray blob on the ground. I asked my mother, what's that mama? She told me to hush Ivy, we mustn't become distracted right now, come along. My mother was the one who took me to the doctor's that day, and sat with me and held my hand, when it was not myself, but her that was crying. I could not see her tears, but I knew that the drops of liquid dropping on my hand inside his office weren't rain. I can remember only a little of the weeks, and months to follow, the sound of my mothers quiet weeping resounded in me whenever I woke up. The doctor had said to my mother, I'm so sorry Tabitha; Ivy...Ivy is experiencing the first stage of premature blindness. Then there was silence, except for the slow and steady tick tock of the clock on the wall. He continued shortly thereafter, it could take four weeks to two months, he said, before she becomes completely blind. I'm sorry. Of course, being six years old, I didn't understand all too much of what was being said at the time, but I could grasp the idea that whatever it was had to be something bad if my mother was crying. The doctor left then, a large blob of black against creamy walls. As my mother carried me out of the office, she whispered to me, do not worry Ivy, everything is going to be fine. Ssh, don't cry. Everything is going to be fine. Still, it was not I that was crying.

The weeks that passed, passed slowly for me, almost as if I were in a dream. Small dots of black enveloped the remaining portion of my vision, creeping ever so silently across my eyes until there was nothing left but black. It happened on a Sunday. Sunday February 28th, when I woke up and could see nothing at all. The past month, I had become accustomed to swirls of color, but I could not understand where the color had gone to. I remember pawing at my eyes, thinking that they were still closed, scratching at them, trying to get them to open. I still have a small scar on my left eyelid, where my nail cut it. My mother and father prayed a lot that day. They prayed a lot on Sundays anyway, the day of rest, the holy day, when mothers and fathers would take their children to church. Every body would be in attendance, on the exception that somebody should be ill of course, and would listen to the fathers' sermon. Jamison Powers was the father of our little church, a good man, with a very powerful voice. Powerful like my fathers, but in a different way. My fathers' voice was calm and soothing and inspiring and even commanding at the same time. Father Jamison's voice was uplifting, but full of persuasion. As if he thought that if he could speak loud enough, and just right, then people would believe that god would take care of them and their children, believe that it would be impossible for such a good little girl, always so well behaved, to go blind. I believed it too. And I wasn't spiteful, or mad, rather confused and lost. As we walked into the church that day, me in my father's arms, kitty holding onto my mother's hand, in our best dresses and my father in his best suit, and sat down in the pew, I was completely lost. A small drop of liquid ran down my face, but this time, it was not my mothers' tears. Blood from the scratches over my eyes. I had always believed (for a six year old) our village to be very big. Vast possibilities to explore, nooks and crannies undiscovered, waiting for me to come along and find them .Yes, to me, our village was very big. But nothing could have prepared me for the never ending infinity of blackness that I had been cursed with. There were people all around me, but I was utterly, completely alone.

When we got home, my mother and father told Kitty and I that they would be going to the town council meeting. They told Kitty to look after her sister. Play with her, do not run too fast, Kitty are you listening? Make sure she doesn't walk alone; we do not want her falling. Take care of her Kitty. Do you hear? Yes mama. Yes Papa. Kitty answered as they left the house. Kitty, I asked her, will you pull the footstool up to our window? Yes Ivy, Kitty answered, rushing to get the footstool, and whizzing past me in the hall as she placed it be the window. It wasn't really a footstool per say, but rather a very tall seat, which I had tripped over and broken my foot. It healed all the same, but from then on it had been called the footstool, and it would remain by that name forever. She ran back and grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the stool, and helped me up. I knelt there, on the stool, and Kitty asked me, do you wish me to describe it to you sister? I can if you want me too, I can. No, I said. I can see just fine. She stood there for a minute, then left, and I heard her walk outside to play with Judith Howard. They were best friends, and of course, it was a beautiful day outside. Kitty was not the blind one. Kitty could still play noughts and crosses with sticks and stones outside with Judith Howard if she wanted to. Because Kitty was not the blind one. Kitty was the tall one, the one with all the friends, the one who was always happy and bubbly and always wore the prettiest dresses and never came home with mud all over her new boots. Kitty was not the blind one.

But I could see just fine.

Over the next three weeks, I was at first, given a walking stick. Then, I was taught how to use it. All I had to do was swing it out in front of me until I bumped into something, then walk the other way. How descriptive for a seven year old. I would walk somewhere, bump into a log, turn around, and walk straight home again. So I decide to make a map of the village. Mama said, Kitty will help you, won't you Kitty? Aww, but mama, Judith and I are playing noughts and crosses with Sandra lee and Abigail! I couldn't POSSIBLY help Kitty right now! Kitty loved to exaggerate words. I couldn't POSSIBLY. How am I EVER. But maMA. But it was alright, I didn't need any help, I said. I stood at our front door and counted the number of steps it took me to get to the back door of our house, and around again. I did the same with the walk to the school house. And with the walk to the doctors office. And with the walk to resting rock. And with the walk to the stump. It was fun, because it was like a game, exploring things I had never done before. Plus, I had discovered something new. When Kitty had brushed past me before I started mapping, I saw a trail of pink. I continued to look at the pink, until it met a similar trail of color, this time orange. They swung around each other, and I could hear laughing coming from them. It was Kittys' laugh, high and bubbly and oblivious. Then I heard the orange one talk, in Judiths' squeaky voice. Two more trails of color followed and joined the first two shortly after. One a greenish yellow, the other another yellow, almost orange- but definitely a yellow. I smiled and understood- the colors were people. I looked around and could see multitudes of colors around me. Various shades of purples, greens, blues and more yellows and oranges and pinks, each only slightly different, but enough to tell who was who. My father was navy blue. My mother was periwinkle. August Nicholson was a brown-ish-orange-ish color. Noah- Noah didn't really have...a color, just this...outline sort of, and I could just always tell where he was. And then there was Lucius. Lucius, was red. But that was obvious wasn't it? Lucius and Noah. They were my two best friends at the time. Noah first, I think .I had always played with him when we were smaller, because I didn't want to play noughts and crosses and talk about how they thought who would be courted first, or how Christoph crane really WAS good looking, but was he better looking than Lucius Hunt? I was 11 then. When the girls and the boys were separated, but more together than ever, because that was the only thing they ever talked about; each other. Ever since I turned the age when girls became more than just girls somehow, and boys suddenly weren't that annoying anymore, and god, since when did he have such amazing eyes? I must admit, it was not I that discovered Lucius. I must give credit to Kitty. I was 13 at the time, and I had been out running footraces with Noah. Lucius was sitting at resting rock, and Noah had grabbed me around the waist and he was twirling me around and I just remember I was laughing and we sort of dropped to the ground and I said, Noah! Noah Percy! No tickling! And I was just laughing and laughing, and I managed to get up and say something along the lines of, you still won't win! And I was just running and running and running and I saw Lucius's light, and He was watching me and I started running to him and I was still laughing so hard I was completely out of breath and I just collapsed on him and I couldn't believe I was laughing that hard, but I couldn't stop, and I was having trouble breathing, and I rolled off the rock onto the ground and I pulled him with me, and he was obviously having trouble understanding what I was laughing at because he was trying to ask me if everything was alright and I said Lucius don't be so serious! He mumbled I'm not serious under his breath and I started laughing again, yes you are! And he just stopped moving and I was sort of in his lap, WHICH was a very inappropriate place to be mind you, and he sort of brushed a piece of my hair away from my face and we both sort of gasped! at the same time and I got off of him quickly and stood up, as did he, and...we never really touched again. He was the first one, girl or boy, to help me with my cane, but not in an over possessive way, just there to lend assistance if I should need it. He let me be myself and wasn't constantly asking me if I needed help like Finton and Christoph and Jeremy were. And when he asked me what I was looking at, he never ever questioned me. Noah and I were friends because we were both different. And in that sense, we were like siblings. When no one else understood, he and I were there for each other. He needed me, and I understood that. He was like my brother. Lucius and I were friends because we were just drawn to each other. He wasn't like the other boys, he was quiet and smart and strong, but most of all, he didn't ever treat me like I was blind, he treated me like I was my own person; strong and able and free and capable of doing anything I wanted without assistance or constant nagging. I never knew why he was drawn to me. I didn't know what I looked like. My mother told me I was pretty. And I heard it too, around our village. My, they said, what a pretty girl Edward Walker's daughter has turned out to be. Such a shame that she is blind. They talked as though I was cursed with some unforgiving disease. Lucius never did that. I think I just always...knew. That it was him. Kitty often talked of love, of her aspirations, chats with the other girls of how some strong man from the towns would come on horseback and sweep her off to his large home far away from this small town with nothing happening whatsoever. But then again, Kitty always wanted more. More than anyone could ever give her here. More than Lucius could have ever given her. She wanted a different kind of love. The imaginary love in times before us, romantic fairy tale love with a damsel and a hero and a dragon to be slain. I never fancied being the damsel. I much preferred to be doing the slaying. Kitty is different now, then she was at 14, and 15, but she is still the same in a sense, she still loves delicate things, still loves to be loved with flowers and surprises and to be showered with kisses and all those very feminine things that I never enjoyed as much as her. Oh goodness1 I forgot to mention, she is with child1 Yes, she and Christoph are fortunate in their tidings, the child shall be born in December of this year; a winter baby, it will be born with pale skin and rosy cheeks. Kitty will be a fine mother, and I hope to be a wonderful aunt and godmother! Lucius speaks of the child often, always wondering if it will be a boy or a girl, and if it will turn out like Christoph, always pressing their shirts. He tells me he is not excited about being an uncle, but his color glows very bright whenever he speaks of the child. I can tell he is lying. Lucius and I married not but two weeks ago. I got my dance, it was magnificent1 I had the most wonderful time. Mother and Kitty made my dress together and I was told later by Lucius that he thought I looked extremely beautiful and I must have blushed to the point of being as red as my hair! I should hope not though, just the thought of how embarrassed I must have looked gives me vapors- and I SELDOM have vapors. Lucius's color was the brightest I had ever seen it on our wedding night. So it should be! I did not cry on our wedding night. I smiled an awful lot, and laughed and danced, and Lucius laughed too, ( even with my father!) and Christoph and Finton ( who has been secretly courting Judith Howard and they are to wed later in the moth) came up to him and said he must be braver than they thought to be marrying someone as steadfast and stubborn as I, but Lucius smiled and even though he thought I couldn't hear it, said he thought they were both just jealous, and the three laughed and it reminded me of times before. If the time should come that Lucius and I will be parents, I think we will be good ones. But I will not think of that yet. A whole new experience to explore with someone, marriage is.

I used to think that our Village was very big. Growing up, we realize that childhood ideals are not always what they appear to be. Things, and most of all people, change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes...sometimes for the worst. Many people fear those-we-don't-speak-of, but of course, how can you fear something you've never seen- And more importantly, something you know doesn't exist. I sometimes wonder what will happen when the elders pass on. Will the responsibility of keeping our village life the same be passed to Lucius and I? I like to think that When Noah stabbed Lucius, he did not know what he intended. But in my heart I realize that it is foolish to hope for things like that. He did know, and for that I would have never forgiven him...but I do miss him. Lucius knew that he loved me. I knew. But that love would have been wasted- I did not share it, and what good would it have done to lead him on, then leave him astray? I hope that he will find peace in heaven, may god give mercy on his actions towards Lucius and to this town.

I have never seen my color. I should hope it to be a pretty one. Lucius thinks it would be pure white. I secretly hope it to be a polka dot or striped pattern, but I have never expressesed this wish to anyone but Lucius, and he laughed very hard and I got angry at him, but I could tell it was a good laugh, so I forgave him. Nevertheless, don't tell anyone else!

It happened on a Tuesday. Tuesday January 15 to be exact. From then on I knew that my life would take a turn for something different, something unimagined and new, an uncharted course, as you would. But, as you can probably tell, I wouldn't have it any other way.

No other way at all.

the end.

So....what did you think? Feedback is greatly appreciated people.

-lee


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